


a sane way of doing things [Under Maintenance]

by onetrueobligation



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Christianity, F/F, F/M, Internalised Homophobia, Love Triangle, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Probably gonna be a long fic, honestly these three characters that never met are the best team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 16:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11948250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetrueobligation/pseuds/onetrueobligation
Summary: Sonya loves Mary.Dolokhov loves Anatole.When Sonya, Mary, and Dolokhov fight to stop the elopement, the two couples realise they could help each other.





	1. Chapter 1

Sonya’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the warm sunlight streaming through the lace curtains and onto her freckled face. She smiled blissfully, before remembering the events of the night before. She had watched her cousin talk with Kuragin, that strange and sinister man, and recognised immediately the look in his eye. She knew what men of that kind wanted. She knew Natasha was too naïve to see it.

She sniffed, shaking her head to clear it, and was about to rise and prepare herself for the day when the door was flung open by Natasha, excitable as ever.

‘Do you have no manners at all?’ Sonya sighed, but she smiled.

‘A letter!’ Natasha crooned, twirling across the room in her nightgown. ‘A letter from Andrey!’ With an extravagant movement of her arms, she flung herself onto the bed, causing Sonya to jump, and rested her head on her cousin’s shoulder, before clearing her throat and reading the letter aloud – twice, to be sure that Sonya hadn’t missed anything the first time.

Sonya smiled tiredly as she listened to Natasha read. When Natasha had finished the second reading, Sonya gave her cousin’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. ‘He will make a wonderful husband for you. And you will make a wonderful wife.’

She couldn’t help but notice Natasha’s brilliant smile falter for just a moment. ‘Yes. Well.’ She coughed. ‘I love him.’

It occurred to Sonya that perhaps Natasha was trying to convince herself more than anyone else of her love for Andrey, but her words brought relief to Sonya nonetheless. She had faith that Natasha was sensible enough not to be swayed by men like Kuragin, at the thought of whom now she felt an unreasonable stab of loathing. Without noticing, she pulled Natasha into a protective embrace.

‘And when you’re married, I’ll still be here for you.’

Natasha glanced up at her as though she were mad. ‘Don’t be absurd. You know as well as I do that you’ll have to find a husband someday, too.’

Her words rang in Sonya’s ears. Sonya, a bride of some faceless, masculine figure? Of course, the thought had occurred to her before, and it repulsed her. She loathed the idea that women were to hand their lives over to a man, to rope themselves into these ‘marriages’ that were nothing more than business transactions. She ran her fingers through Natasha’s hair absent-mindedly, before her eyes refocused.

‘Come, light a candle,’ she said, a smile returning to her lips. ‘I want to show you something.’

 

‘And how did you say this game works?’

Sonya aligned the mirrors as she spoke. ‘It’s an old tradition. One holds a candle to the mirror, and as it stretches back, you look to the very last square. You’ll see either a coffin, or a man.’ She paused, and gave a small chuckle. ‘Everyone sees a man.’

Natasha gazed at the tiny image in the dark depths of the mirror. ‘I see… I see a shape… Is it…?’ She trailed off, leaving Sonya with an inexplicable sense of suspense. Natasha gave a terrible, frightened gasp and lurched back. ‘He’s lying down! Oh, Sonya, why is he lying down?!’

Sonya leapt up and embraced her cousin, kissing her hair soothingly. ‘Shh… it’s alright, Natasha. It’s just a silly game.’

Natasha sobbed into the fabric of Sonya’s nightgown. ‘Oh, Sonya… I’m so frightened… When will he come home?’ She gasped and clutched at Sonya’s arm. ‘Sonya, what if he _never_ comes home?!’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Sonya said firmly. ‘You know he’ll be fine.’

She sat Natasha down and whispered words of comfort until the girl’s sobs had stopped. Natasha looked up at her cousin through red-rimmed eyes. ‘What do you see in the mirror, Sonya?’

‘What do I see?’ The question caught her by surprise. She didn’t answer. She knew, deep in her heart, that in the depths of that mirror was a man waiting to make her his bride. But she didn’t see him. And she didn’t see a coffin.

No matter how many times she gazed in that mirror, she was consistently met with the distinct silhouette of a woman.

 

After church, Marya Dmitrievna insisted on visiting the old Prince Bolkonsky to reproach him for his treatment of Natasha, and Sonya, on a whim, decided to accompany her.

Sonya knew very little about the Bolkonskys. The father was rarely seen outside of his home, and she had only ever seen his mouse of a daughter at church. They frightened her a little. There was something not quite right about the family, something odd and enigmatic.

She smoothed her holiday dress and she and Marya approached the Bolkonsky’s. Marya rapped firmly on the door, and the two of them were led inside by a footman to the drawing room, where Princess Mary was drinking tea all alone. Her bird-like eyes grew wide when she saw the newcomers.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, nearly spilling tea on herself in her haste to stand. ‘Forgive me. We weren’t expecting guests.’

Sonya was immediately struck with a wave of pity for this young woman, clearly intimidated by the tight scowl on Marya’s lips. Who wouldn’t be?

‘I would like a word with Prince Bolkonsky,’ Marya said coolly, immediately recognising that the girl was terrified. Sonya had often admired Marya’s ability to smell fear. ‘Immediately.’

Princess Mary paled. ‘I… Yes, of course. Please- please wait a moment…’

She bowed her head and shuffled out of the room. After she’d left, Sonya cast her eyes around the dark room. The curtains were closed, but a small sliver of light illuminated the dust that had gathered on the old-fashioned furniture. Her heart sank at the thought of her cheerful cousin marrying into this grim family.

The sound of raised voices rang down from upstairs, Princess Mary’s drowned out by that of whom Sonya could only assume to be Bolkonsky. A few moments later, Mary returned to the room, appearing to be on the verge of tears.

‘I-I’m sorry…’ she said hoarsely in a voice barely above a whisper, her eyes repeatedly darting to Marya and then away again. ‘My father is not well enough to receive anyone at the moment. Perhaps another time…?’

Marya’s frown deepened. ‘Yes, perhaps. Come, Sonya.’ She turned and strode from the room, and Princess Mary audibly sighed in relief.

Sonya hesitated and glanced over at the princess. She couldn’t have been older than Sonya herself. Her skin was pale, most likely from hardly ever leaving the house, and her hands were shaking, a common side effect of an unexpected encounter with Marya Dmitrievna. She was about to turn away when the princess seized her arm.

‘Please,’ Mary said softly, risking a glance at Sonya’s face, ‘you’re Countess Natalya’s cousin, correct?’

Sonya nodded, throat seizing up with compassion and empathy for this young woman.

‘Please tell her I beg her to forgive me for my treatment of her yesterday. My behaviour was completely uncalled for, and I pray she can find it in her heart to forgive me.’

‘Of course,’ Sonya choked out. ‘Of course I will tell her. But… But you are always welcome to come to our home and tell her yourself.’

She smiled, genuinely, and looked away. ‘Thank you, but… I doubt my father would allow it.’

‘Sonya, come along!’ Marya snapped from the other room.

‘Well, perhaps I could visit you?’ Sonya offered. ‘I’m sure you could use the company as much as I could.’

The princess went a little pink, reminding Sonya of herself. ‘That would be…’

‘ _Sofia Alexandrovna, I swear to all that’s holy-’_

Mary’s fingers released Sonya’s arm. ‘You ought to go.’

Sonya inclined her head just a little, cast her eyes over Mary one last time, before darting away with a peculiar smile on her face.

All throughout the walk home, she could still feel Mary’s fingerprints on her wrist.

 


	2. Chapter 2

‘Did you see that _stunning_ girl at the opera last night?’

‘Rostova? You’ve been talking about her since we left the theatre.’

Fyodor wasn’t unused to this kind of behaviour from his friend. In fact, he’d grown quite accustomed to Anatole mooning over some new delight. It never lasted long, and Fyodor knew he had no reason to feel concerned whenever it happened. But things had changed. Anatole was a married man now, and yet he still toyed with these little girls as though he were a bachelor. And Fyodor _knew_ Anatole wasn’t his responsibility, that making stupid mistakes was Anatole’s fault and Anatole’s alone, but he couldn’t help feel protective of the man. He was fond of him, whether he wanted to be or not.

‘Wasn’t she dazzling?’ Anatole crooned, his eyes unfocused. He was draped on the beige chaise longue in Dolokhov’s study, supporting himself with one elbow on the armrest. He wore a pensive smile on his face, his lips slightly parted, and Fyodor found it amusing to watch.

‘She’s not for us,’ he began with an ironic smile.

‘I will tell my sister to invite her to dinner…’ Anatole speculated, clearly not taking in a word of what Dolokhov was saying.

‘You’d be better off waiting until she’s married…’

‘You know, I adore little girls,’ Anatole interrupted. ‘They lose their heads at once.’

Dolokhov stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before letting out a harsh and cold laugh. ‘You’ve already been caught once by a _little girl._ ’

Anatole blinked and gazed up at him as though seeing him for the first time. ‘Well,’ he said, with a good-natured chuckle, ‘that can’t happen twice, eh?’

Fyodor rolled his eyes and said nothing.

‘Say, Fedya,’ Anatole said, standing and leaning against the bedpost lazily, ‘you couldn’t help me write her a letter, could you?’

Fyodor’s eyes flashed, just for a moment, something that happened when Anatole said something particularly ridiculous. ‘A _letter?_ Anatole, you’ve known the girl twelve hours!’

‘She and I were made for each other, Fedya, don’t you understand?’ He sighed, like a child, like a maid, like an innocent, someone naïve and gentle, not someone who toyed with hearts like it was a game of cards. Not someone like Anatole.

Fyodor always wavered between finding it amusing and feeling genuine anger at Anatole’s foolishness. He’d never truly wanted to be dragged into Anatole’s life. The only reason he’d kept him around originally had been to use his name, position and connections to draw wealthy young men into his gambling set. He’d also enjoyed amusing himself at the prince’s expense, without letting the other feel it, and dominating Anatole’s will had become a habit in itself, something Dolokhov would be disappointed to lose. But over time, almost imperceptibly, Dolokhov had noticed a different sort of connection tying the two of them, a protectiveness, something that almost resembled jealousy, although Dolokhov couldn’t say where it stemmed from.

And seeing Anatole pining after a young woman in this way made his blood boil in ways he couldn’t explain.

But when Anatole so innocently asked for his help, who was he to say no?

‘Sit down,’ he said, gesturing to the little desk in the corner. Anatole obeyed and immediately began rummaging for ink, a pen, a sheet of paper, muttering to himself all the while. Once he’d gathered everything he needed, he held the pen a hair above the page and turned back to Dolokhov imploringly.

‘Let me see…’ Fyodor began, leaning on the desk with a cocky smile. ‘”I must love you or die”, how does that sound?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Anatole said enthusiastically, immediately scribbling it down on the paper.

They went back and forth in this manner for the better half of an hour until Anatole had a fully-composed letter before him. ‘Charming!’ he exclaimed, signing the letter with an almost ridiculous flourish.

Dolokhov gave him one last sceptical glance before turning away. Anatole’s hand caught his wrist, and he turned back, immediately detesting the mischievous smile on the prince’s lips. ‘And when will you find yourself a lady, Theodore?’ he asked playfully.

Dolokhov snatched his arm away, glaring daggers. ‘You know full well that I have no interest in _that_.’

‘Ah, well,’ Anatole said with a crooked laugh to match his crooked smile as he stood up from the desk. ‘You’ll find the right match soon enough.’

Dolokhov watched him leave, his mouth now twisted into an irritable scowl. How dare that stupid child tell _he,_ Fyodor Dolokhov, about his own love life? How dare that insufferable fool, who hadn’t the slightest idea about love, try to tell Fyodor what he knew? Who did he think he –

The door opened again, and Anatole poked his head back into the room, still wearing his smile. ‘Ah, by the way, Helene is visiting for lunch. I hope you don’t mind.’

Dolokhov felt his anger seeping away as quickly as it had come at the sight of the handsome, half-witted prince, ignorant to anyone’s feelings but his own. He slumped a little, and gave a reluctant smile. ‘Of course. She’s perfectly welcome.’

Anatole inclined his head in thanks before darting away again. Fyodor sighed and rested his head in his hands. One day, he’d like to tell Anatole that he was a fool, but he had yet to find his voice.

 

Countess Bezukhova arrived that day for lunch, dressed in green and black with a fur coat around her shoulders. Her brother greeted her with a kiss on the hand, and then a kiss on the cheek. The countess gave a flat smirk through crooked lips as she ran a nimble hand through her younger brother’s hair, and the boy leaned into her touch. Dolokhov watched from a few feet away, his glittering eyes examining the pair. He knew they saw something in each other that they could never find in anyone else, something he could only dare to imagine.

When the Kuragins parted, Helene glanced over at Fyodor and beckoned him to her. He leant down to kiss her hand before straightening his back and glancing back up at her.

‘Fedya,’ she said in her guttural, gravelly voice. ‘I trust you’ve been keeping my brother in line since he arrived in the city?’

He laughed. ‘I’d prefer to leave that honour to you, Countess.’

‘You’re both horrible to me,’ Anatole said with a mock pout that lasted perhaps five seconds until Helene swept him into another kiss and tapped his cheek teasingly.

‘Come, now, Tolya, you know we’re only playing.’ She handed her coat to the valet and clasped her gloved hands. ‘Now, I was promised lunch?’

 

Halfway into the meal, the topic turned to the opera, and then, inevitably, to Countess Rostova, at the mention of whom Anatole became animated and restless. Helene smiled knowingly at her brother’s reaction and rested her elbows on the table, looking pleased with herself.

‘I’ve just come from the little countess’s now,’ she said smugly. ‘I’ve invited her to the ball tonight. Charming little thing, isn’t she? You have good taste,’ she remarked to her brother.

‘Wonderful,’ Dolokhov muttered, unable to tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

‘And what of you, Fedya?’ Helene asked, turning her handsome face toward him. ‘Have you found yourself a wife yet?’

Anatole laughed softly. ‘Best not. He nearly skinned me alive when I asked the same question this morning.’

‘I see,’ Helene said, her lips pursed. ‘Well, not to worry. I’d marry you myself if I weren’t chained to…’

She trailed off. Marriage was an uncomfortable subject for all three of them.

‘You know,’ Fyodor said to interrupt the awkward silence that had enveloped them, ‘you really ought to stay away from Rostova.’

Anatole scoffed. ‘Ha! Fedya all of a sudden has decided to listen to his heart!’

Dolokhov didn’t smile. ‘This will end badly.’ He stood up from the table and left them to gossip to their heart’s content.

 

It had taken Princess Mary a full week to work up the courage to visit the Rostovs again, and she’d almost turned back more than once on her way there. She knocked at the door which was answered by Sonya herself, although Mary wasn’t prepared for what she saw.

Sonya was in tears, although hastily trying to mask it; her hands were shaking and her eyes red-rimmed. She gasped when her eyes fell upon Mary.

‘Princess!’ she cried. ‘Forgive me, I’m so sorry, I…’

Without thinking, Mary pulled her into a warm embrace. That was what people did, wasn’t it? Or was she being too forward?

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, hoping she sounded comforting.

‘M-my cousin… Natasha… we- we’ve had an argument…’

‘I came to see her,’ Mary said, blinking owlishly. ‘I wanted to apologise on my father’s behalf…’

Sonya’s eyes went wide and she pulled away. ‘Oh… I’m afraid… no, it’s terrible, all too terrible!’

She led her into the drawing room and sat her down, at the same moment as Natasha entered the room.

‘Princess Mary!’ she said in pleasant surprise, ignoring her cousin’s sniffles. ‘How lovely to see you again.’

The princess stood. ‘Countess, I came to tell you how sorry I am for my behaviour and for my father’s. Please believe me when I say he meant none of it. His is old and an invalid, and you mustn’t take any of what he says to heart.’

‘Oh,’ Natasha said, her smile not wavering. ‘Well, I’m terribly sorry, Princess, but I cannot marry your brother. Good day.’

And with that, she turned on her heel and left.

‘I…’ Mary gaped after her as Sonya burst into tears once more. ‘But, that can’t be… did I treat her so badly…?’

‘No, no!’ Sonya sobbed. ‘She… she claims that she loves another…’

Mary sat down beside her and took her hand. ‘Shh…’ She had no idea what to say and instead stroked Sonya’s back awkwardly until she had composed herself.

‘I- I’m sorry you had to see that,’ Sonya sniffed once the tears had stopped. ‘I just… well, I can’t believe that she’d…’

Mary looked at her in bewilderment. ‘Sofya… what happened? They seemed so happy…’

Sonya looked down. ‘Can I trust you not to tell a soul?’

Mary bit her lip. ‘Of course.’

‘Natasha… she wants to run away with this man that she’s only just met. I fear she’s already broken with your brother.’ She closed her eyes tightly, evidently restraining tears. ‘What do I do, Princess? Who do I turn to for help?’

Mary shifted. ‘Well… you’re always welcome to talk to me.’

Sonya rested her face on Mary’s shoulder affectionately, as though they were old friends. ‘Thank you.’

She had a maid bring them some tea and they talked, talked about what had happened, and then about nothing in particular. Mary felt herself relaxing in the presence of this young woman, again feeling as though she’d known her for years. The two girls became so caught up in conversation that they jumped when they heard a knock at the door.

Sonya leapt up to answer it and was shocked when she was met with the handsome face of Captain Fyodor Dolokhov, his shadowed eyes cast down humbly.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked coldly.

He fumbled with his hands. ‘Good evening, miss. I came to speak with Marya Dmitrievna on an urgent matter.’

Sonya sniffed, glancing at him suspiciously. ‘Too urgent for a letter?’

‘I’d rather discuss this in person.’

She hesitated before opening the door wide enough for him to enter. He bowed his head in thanks and strode inside.

‘Marya Dmitrievna isn’t here at the moment. Would you rather discuss whatever it is with me?’ She led him into the drawing room and sat him down before returning to Mary’s side.

‘Yes… I’m afraid I need someone to help me. Prince Kuragin has gotten far too carried away with your cousin, and it needs to be put to a stop.’

Sonya raised her eyebrow but poured him a cup of tea. ‘So you agree.’ She gestured to Mary. ‘This is Princess Mary Bolkonskaya – she’s also quite aware of the situation.’

‘Well, you see – Anatole never stays enamoured for anyone for long. His attention span never usually lasts longer than a couple of weeks. But he… he plans to do something drastic, I can tell. Please, I implore you both – whatever he does is going to destroy the reputation of both he and the countess.’

‘But how could we?’ Mary chimed in in a small voice. ‘You, Captain Dolokhov, are in the most powerful position.’

‘And why do you care so much?’ interjected Sonya, gazing at Fyodor curiously. ‘What reason could you have to want to stop this?’

Dolokhov shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but… well… he’s married.’

Mary and Sonya’s teacups clattered into their saucers simultaneously. They both gasped loudly and began chattering about decency and honour and nobility. Dolokhov sighed. ‘I don’t want him to do anything that could land him behind bars.’

The two women calmed themselves. ‘I think we mustn’t let either of them out of our sight,’ Mary said matter-of-factly. ‘We must do everything we can.’

Sonya turned to her. ‘Why do _you_ care so much?’

Mary reddened. ‘I… I find life quite dull at home. All of this… well… it’s quite exciting, isn’t it?’

Sonya and Dolokhov exchanged a glance. _Exciting_ wasn’t the first word that came to mind. Mary’s eyes darted to the clock on the wall and she leapt up. ‘Goodness! I really must go. My father will be furious. Thank you for the tea!’

She gathered her skirts and dashed from the room, leaving Sonya and Fyodor in a strained silence.

‘Do you have a wife yourself, Dolokhov?’ Sonya asked curiously.

‘Me?’ Fyodor laughed. ‘No… no. God, no.’

She laughed, a sad little smile on her face. ‘You and I seem to share our views there.’ She glanced over to where Mary had sat, as though still seeing her. Dolokhov followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow. Something in Sonya’s gaze reminded him of himself. He coughed and stood.

‘Well, thank you, Sofia Alexandrovna.’

‘Please – Sonya.’

‘Fedya,’ he said, placing a hand on his chest with a smile. There was something strange in the feelings he’d experienced in Sonya’s presence. Nothing like how he was expected to feel for women, but rather a mutual bond, seeing himself reflected in her. Something attracted him to her, in the most gentle way. ‘Please write, and keep an eye on your cousin.’

Sonya rose and showed him out, feeling mildly elated.

It wasn’t until she was lying in bed that she understood this new feeling.

She wasn’t alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a lot of computer problems lately, so please excuse any errors or typos you find! :)

‘When you told me to say you would steal her away, this is _not_ what I thought you meant!’

Anatole barely glanced up at his friend. ‘Come now, Fedya, it’s not so bad. You can come visit us in Poland any time you wish.’

Dolokhov was ready to tear out his own hair, and Anatole’s too if that was what it took. He steadied himself. ‘Listen to me, Anatole. You know you can’t elope with her. You’re married!’

‘Don’t!’ Anatole warned, and his expression changed in an instant from playfulness to danger. He rose from his seated position and stalked over to Dolokhov, who found himself frozen in place. Anatole put a hand on his friend’s chest. Dolokhov felt his heart racing.

‘Anatole…’ Dolokhov said meekly.

Anatole said nothing and merely gazed into Dolokhov’s eyes with his hypnotic stare for what felt to Dolokhov an obscenely long time. Then Anatole moved away and Fedya found himself incapable of speech. One thought did occur to him, though, a thought which made his blood boil.

_He knows exactly how I feel about him. He’s been using me._

But that did not change Dolokhov’s feelings toward him in the slightest.

 

Fedya had always liked to feel in control, and he always had been. Until he’d met Anatole.

Anatole had a power over him that he hated to admit. It made Fedya feel small and submissive, which he hated. He wanted to feel powerful, the way he did when having a gun in his hand, having control of a man’s life before him. The only time he ever allowed himself to feel less than in control was when he was drunk – or when he was with Anatole.

Being drunk _and_ with Anatole was simultaneously the best and worst experience of his life.

Fedya had been young, very young. He knew the Kuragins – or more specifically, he knew _of_ the Kuragins – but had never met their famous son. He’d already been half-drunk before Anatole had him talking, talking about his whole life as though he’d always known Anatole. He woke up in a stranger’s bed and it took a moment for him to understand who Anatole was at all.

And since neither had a clear memory of that night, they never spoke of it again.

Fedya wondered how Anatole saw him. As a friend? As something more? Or as something less? Perhaps Fedya was only a vessel to Anatole, a means for him to conquer his desires.

Whatever he was to Anatole, Fedya would never stop loving him. He didn’t know if Anatole had ever felt more than lust at all, but Fedya had never felt stronger love.

He’d tried everything. Alcohol, women, God, but nothing could cure him of this disease. And so he came to accept that he was a man who loved another man. He was different, he was abnormal, but what he felt was real, and to him, that was all that mattered.

Then there was Sonya. Gentle, sweet, soft Sonya. Fedya had just met her, but he could read her like a book. She was like him. He’d seen the way she’d gazed at Princess Mary when she spoke, like she was the only person in the world. He saw in her eyes what he felt toward Anatole.

Perhaps he wasn’t so abnormal after all.

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Sofia Alexandrovna,_

_I fear Anatole’s obsession with your cousin is only growing. He plans to steal her away and elope with her to Poland. Please do not tell a soul! We cannot risk them facing severe consequences, which should be a final resort. I will keep you updated, but I beg you not to let the countess out of your sight._

_Warmest regards,  
Theodore Ivanich_

_Dear Theodore Ivanich,_

_Thank you for informing me. I have been watching Natasha closely, and hope you will do the same with Anatole. Princess Mary has also been notified of the developments._

_I would advise you to do everything in your power to prevent your friend from going ahead with whatever he plans to do. However, my secondary plan is to allow him to go through with the abduction, and myself and Mary can confront him and prevent him from reaching her. That way no one will be harmed and no one will be arrested._

_Kind regards,  
Sofia Alexandrovna_

 

* * *

 

 

‘So, will you help me?’

The sternness of Anatole’s gaze was completely gone and was replaced with that of an excitable puppy. Dolokhov’s lip curled. ‘You do realise you’re being incredibly stupid?’

Anatole smiled to himself. ‘Of course.’

Dolokhov sighed. ‘Then I suppose I have no choice.’

‘Thank you!’ His friend threw his arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’re the best friend a man could hope for.’

Dolokhov felt colour rising to his cheeks and he coughed. ‘Yes, well… Anyway, how do you plan to find the money to support yourselves? Her family will cut her off, and so will yours.’

‘Well, I thought you and I could raise some money together. Helene has already supplied ten thousand rubles.’

Dolokhov’s eyes went wide. ‘Ten thou- Anatole…’

‘Oh, please, let’s not argue,’ Anatole begged, clutching his hand. ‘Come, we’ll discuss it over dinner.’

And that was how Fedya found himself invited to dinner in his own house, barely focusing on what Anatole was saying. Instead, he felt a rising guilt at the thought of betraying his friend.

 

Princess Marya Bolkonskaya soon found herself spending more and more time at the Rostov’s; specifically, with Sonya. She and her new friend would talk for hours on end about their own dilemmas, their own experiences, their own views on the world. They talked about the new growing movement of women’s rights, their thoughts on the latest events in Moscow, and of course, about their own family situations.

Sonya was feeling neglected by her family. She was simply the poor relation and the family had no real use for her and wished to marry her off as soon as possible. Her only real friend was Natasha, and now she had been lost to a man.

Mary was feeling trapped in her own household – bound to her father by love and obligation, and between caring for him and devoting herself to God, she found very little time to care for herself. Her only source of comfort, her brother, was fighting the war (perhaps never to return) and so now she had only Amelie Bourienne to talk with, and in truth, she’d rather be alone.

In each other, they found a common weariness. The forgotten cousin and the jaded daughter somehow bonded in a way neither of them had expected. And then there was that _something else._

Mary had read books on love and romance, and as a child had thought it the stuff of fiction. As she grew into a young woman, she concluded that love _did_ exist, and she was simply doomed to never experience it herself.

After meeting Sonya, everything she thought she’d known about love was being questioned, re-evaluated, and torn apart. She found herself focusing more on Sonya’s face than her words, more on how she carried herself than what she believed in. She had memorised every freckle on her face, every stray hair hanging down over her eyes, every slight movement. It took her precisely two weeks to realise she was experiencing exactly what she had read about in stories.

She tried praying. She tried distracting herself. She flipped anxiously through the worn pages of her bible, searching for some kind of advice. She traced over paintings of her mother, whispering the lullabies they used to sing to herself as hot tears welled in her eyes.

But in the end, she came to accept the truth. There was no denying it.

She was in love with Sofia Alexandrovna.

 

Things were moving far too quickly, in Dolokhov’s opinion. One moment he’d been about to speak out against the plan, the next he’d raised ten thousand rubles and hired a priest and two wedding witnesses. _This is actually happening,_ he’d tell himself. _We’re going ahead with this._

He kept up his correspondence with Sonya regularly and their plan had been arranged in detail: Anatole and Dolokhov would be driven to the Rostov’s house in the troika according to Anatole’s plan, but when he arrived, the maid would obfuscate and distract him. Then Sonya and Mary would arrive and confront him. At the same time, Dolokhov would call Anatole back ( _“Betrayed!”_ ) and drag him back into the troika without his bride-to-be.

On the morning of the abduction, Dolokhov rose before the sun, pacing his room. His stomach churned at the thought of what he was going to do. He desperately wanted to keep Anatole by his side, and he also wanted to protect the countess for Sonya’s sake, but he knew if Anatole found out he was involved in the plan to keep him from his beloved, he’d never forgive him.

At least he knew one thing – if all went well, he’d finally be in control.

That evening just as the sun was beginning to set, Anatole and Dolokhov sat in the study, sipping their tea nervously. Khvostikov and Makarin were also present, with Makarin chattering incessantly to the silent and intimidating Khvostikov. Dolokhov and Anatole did not say a word until the latter threw down his teacup loudly and leapt from his chair, pacing the room just as Dolokhov had that morning. His unbuttoned uniform hung loosely and Dolokhov found colour rising to his cheeks.

The endless pacing seemed to make Dolokhov snap. An ironic smile crept onto his face. ‘Do you know? You’d really better drop it all. There’s still time!’

Anatole glared at him. ‘Fool,’ he retorted. ‘Don’t talk nonsense! If you only knew… it’s the devil knows what!’

Dolokhov rolled his eyes. ‘No, really, give it up!’

‘What, teasing again?’ He pouted his pink lips. ‘Go to the devil, eh? Really, it’s no time for your stupid jokes.’

And he stormed out of the room. Dolokhov watched the door with a condescending smile, and a few seconds later, Anatole reversed back inside, sat down at the table, and sipped his tea.

‘Now, listen to me,’ Dolokhov said seriously, one final attempt to stop the abduction. He found satisfaction in the thought that Anatole was actually giving him his attention, whether he wanted to or not. ‘I’m telling you for the last time. Why would I joke about this? Who found the priest? Who got the passports, the horses? Who raised the money?’

‘Well, I thank you for it,’ Anatole said. ‘Do you think that I am not grateful? Is that what this is about?’ With a clearly forced laugh, he embraced Dolokhov, who immediately batted him away, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

‘No, _listen!_ ’ Dolokhov insisted, waving his hands about in an attempt to make Anatole silent. ‘This is a dangerous business, and a stupid one, too. It’ll get out that you’re still married! They’ll have you in the courts for this…’ His voice trailed off as his nerves got the better of him and he thought of all the ways the plan could go wrong.

‘Oh, nonsense, nonsense!’ Anatole said with a scowl. ‘Didn’t I explain this to you already?’ He crooked a finger and puffed out his chest, and Dolokhov stifled a laugh at his attempt to look knowledgeable. ‘If this marriage is invalid, then I have nothing to answer for, but if it is valid, it’s no matter! No one in Poland will have any idea about it. Isn’t that so? Don’t speak to me!’

Dolokhov was becoming increasingly frustrated. ‘Seriously, drop it now! You’ll only get yourself in a mess!’

‘Go to the devil!’ cried Anatole, clutching at his hair. He fled from the room again but returned once more, dropping into an armchair and immediately rising again. He grabbed Dolokhov’s hand and placed it against his own chest. ‘It’s the very devil here! Feel how it beats?’

Dolokhov took a breath and his handsome eyes glittered coldly. ‘Well, when the money’s gone, what then?’ he asked calmly.

Anatole looked sincerely perplexed at a thought of the future. ‘What then? Then, I don’t know… but why talk nonsense?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Come now, it’s time!’

For the third time, he left the room, leaving the two wedding witnesses to gaze at Dolokhov, who coughed before following.

_I had to fall for a fool like him._

 


	4. Chapter 4

‘Are you sure you’re okay with doing this?’

Princess Mary laughed. ‘I’ve told you, Sonya, I’m not a weakling. This is exciting. It’s just like in the books.’

Sonya smiled and wrapped her arms around Mary. ‘Okay. If Fedya’s timing is accurate, they should be here in perhaps fifteen minutes.’ Any guilt she felt for betraying her friend was overwhelmed by excitement for finally doing something. Perhaps she would write about it – saving her cousin by putting a stop to a wicked man’s plan. Her heart raced in her chest as she and Mary raced down to the courtyard, hand in hand, to wait in hiding.

When the troika arrived, the two girls held their breath. Sure enough, Kuragin leapt into view with a large fur cloak, and Dolokhov followed, looking around nervously. He spotted Sonya and Mary and nodded imperceptibly. They did the same back.

As had been planned, a maid ran up and began talking with Anatole. The girls couldn’t catch the words, but the maid seemed to be doing her job, as Anatole seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated.

‘ _Now,_ ’ Sonya whispered, and the two girls emerged from hiding. They weren’t particularly intimidating, but neither was Anatole, and when he spotted them, they saw fear cross over his face.

‘You will not have Natasha,’ Sonya said, forcing her voice to be as commanding as possible.

Anatole seemed to be weighing up his chances of pushing past them to reach Natasha. Before he could come to a decision, however, Dolokhov called from the gate, ‘Anatole, come back! Back! Betrayed! We’ve been betrayed!’

Anatole barely hesitated before fleeing to return to Dolokhov’s side. And suddenly, it was over. Mary and Sonya looked at each other as began cheering, as well as giggling uncontrollably. Then, without warning, Sonya did the unimaginable – she pressed her lips to Mary’s, deeply, in a long and deliberately drawn-out kiss. There was no mistaking that sort of kiss, Mary thought.

That was the kiss she had read about in stories.

 

Outside Natasha’s bedroom door, Sonya took a breath and steadied herself. In the past few weeks, it seemed she had always had her two new friends by her side. For the first time, she felt alone.

Sonya didn’t want to be alone.

She heard loud sobbing from the other side of the door and her heart ached for her friend. She forced down the tears that threatened to spill and rapped at the door.

‘Leave me alone!’ Natasha shrieked from inside.

Sonya forced herself not to back down. ‘Natasha, it’s me-’

‘You ruined everything!’ her cousin shouted through tears. ‘I don’t wish to speak to you!’

Marya Dmitrievna made her way up the stairs. ‘Sonya, has she told you what ails her?’

Sonya hesitated. Marya had no knowledge of the attempted abduction, and it was best to stay that way. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, not yet.’

Marya frowned. ‘Well, keep trying my dear. No doubt being away from her mother this long has made her homesick.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s it,’ Sonya said enthusiastically, until Marya walked away. She turned back to the door. ‘Natasha…’

‘I’m not letting you in!’

‘What if I bring shortbread?’

There was a silence. Then –

‘Maybe.’

A few minutes later, the two girls sat eating their biscuits on Natasha’s bed. Neither said a word. Natasha occasionally began crying again, and Sonya would wrap her arms around her, and she wasn’t pushed away. She’d take that as forgiveness.

‘Natasha, I cannot apologise enough,’ Sonya said softly, wiping away her cousin’s tears. ‘But you know it was all for the best, don’t you?’

Natasha smiled. It was faint, and it was sad, but it was a smile nonetheless. And then she returned to eating her shortbread.

 

‘Fedya!’ Sonya exclaimed in surprise. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Dolokhov shuffled his feet as she ushered him in and he took his seat in the drawing room. ‘How is she?’

‘Still hasn’t left her room. Anatole?’

Dolokhov hunched his shoulders as she poured him a drink. ‘He’s distraught. He blames everyone – me, her, his sister…’

‘His sister? Countess Bezukhova?’

‘Yes,’ Dolokhov said, unused to hearing Helene’s name said in such away. ‘In fact, she is part of the reason I came.’

Sonya noticed the shadow crossing over his face. ‘What has happened?’

‘Bezukhov, Count Bezukhov, he found out,’ Dolokhov said, speaking quickly. ‘He realised Helene had spent ten thousand rubles of his and demanded to know what she’d done. She told him everything.’

Sonya gasped softly. She knew Pierre, of course. He used to be a good friend of the family, but in the past year he’d grown more distant than ever. She wondered if he could be trusted to keep a secret.

‘The count was furious,’ Dolokhov continued. ‘He came to my house and threatened Anatole.’

‘And?’

‘And… Anatole is leaving for Petersburg in the morning.’

Sonya bit her lip. That was in many ways a good thing, as Natasha would no longer have to see Anatole’s face, but the gossip in Moscow spread fast.

‘Does anyone else know?’

Dolokhov shook his head. ‘Pierre will certainly not tell a soul. He thinks he is doing this on Natasha’s behalf. He wishes to purify her reputation.’

‘Pray there will be no need to,’ Sonya said distractedly. ‘Well, thank you for telling me, Fedya. I will inform Mary of the developments.’ She sipped her tea and there was a long pause.

‘Sonya, may I ask you a question?’

Sonya smiled. ‘Of course, dear Fedya.’

‘Princess Mary – what is it between the two of you?’

Sonya blushed. ‘Fedya…’ She weighed up her options. She’d known the man for something of two weeks but there was already a connection between them that she couldn’t deny. She trusted both he and Mary with her life. He deserved to know. ‘I- I know it sounds absurd but… I’ve never been in love with a man. I’ve only loved one person in my life, and that is Princess Mary. Please, don’t say anything!’

Dolokhov was momentarily dumbstruck. So he wasn’t alone. Her words were a breath of fresh air. ‘Sonya, I… You must know you’re not alone. I…’ He hesitated and ran a hand through his hair. ‘What you’re feeling… I have the same feelings for Anatole.’ He’d never been eloquent, but Sonya seemed to understand what he meant.

‘You… you too?’ she whispered. She realised with a stab of embarrassment that she was crying and wiped away her tears quickly. ‘No wonder…’

Dolokhov did not like being confronted by crying women, but he cared deeply for Sonya, and so he wrapped his arms around her gingerly. ‘Sonya, you will never be alone. Not while I’m here. Not while Mary’s here.’

 

Sonya’s eyes flew open. At first, she saw only darkness before her eyes adjusted and she saw Natasha slumped against the door. Her eyes were rolling and it seemed that she was foaming at the mouth. Sonya wasted no time in leaping out of her bed and crouching to her side. ‘Natasha! Cousin, my cousin, what ails you?’

Natasha was spluttering, but her eyes focused on Sonya and she reached out and touched her freckled cheek. ‘I- I- poison. Arsenic…’ She trailed off and began coughing on the carpeted floor. Sonya recoiled as she saw the dark stains of blood. Her mind seemed to silence. There was only one thought in her mind. _Natasha does not die today._

She immediately ran for the maids. Explaining nothing, she instructed them to call for a doctor and tell them Natasha had been poisoned with arsenic. She then ran back to Natasha, who was still in Sonya’s room. Sonya realised she was crying, but Natasha was, unthinkably, smiling, between coughing and vomiting. Sonya stroked her cheek gently. ‘It’s alright, Natasha. It will be okay. You will be fine.’ But she was reassuring herself more than anyone else.

 

‘I came as soon as I heard.’

Sonya said nothing and merely nodded her head gravely as she invited Dolokhov in.

Somehow, during the commotion, Marya Dmitrievna had found out everything. The shock of it all had the dame bedridden, and she hadn’t been seen in days. Despite Sonya’s anxieties, the word still hadn’t gotten out about the abduction.

Natasha was recovering. She was feeble but alive, and that was enough for Sonya to thank every god she knew how to pray to.

‘And how is Mary?’ Dolokhov asked, sombre.

‘Ask her yourself,’ Sonya replied in a voice barely more than a whisper, guiding him into the drawing room, which was becoming a tradition of theirs. Princess Mary was already seated there. She nodded to Dolokhov.

‘Good afternoon, Fedya,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you came. Now that you’re both here, I’m afraid I have some news.’

Sonya stared at her. ‘What news?’

‘Andrey has written to me. He is returning home.’

Sonya and Dolokhov groaned. A month ago, the news would have been cause for celebration. Now, it was yet another complication.

‘Well, I too bring news,’ Dolokhov said. ‘I’m leaving to join Anatole in Petersburg next week.’

‘Oh, must you?’ Mary cried. ‘I’ve grown so accustomed to your presence.’

‘I’m afraid I must,’ Dolokhov sighed. ‘Countess Bezukhova is also joining us. I would not trust Anatole by himself.’ He attempted a laugh, but it only echoed around the room hollowly.

Sonya smiled sadly. ‘We’ll miss you, Fedya. You will write, won’t you?’

‘Of course. As frequently as I can.’

The trio talked for some time, but the conversation was empty and forced as they tried to distract themselves from reality. Somehow, Mary and Sonya ended up holding hands. Although it was discreet, Dolokhov noticed.

If they could confess their love for each other, he could confess his love for Anatole.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i am aware that divorces weren't easy to get back in the 1800s but i needed a plot device. give a struggling author a break. Also, I promise the seemingly unimportant scenes between Mary and Andrey/Helene and Dolokhov with become more important later. 
> 
> I hope the story isn't boring you! This is all the beginning and involves setting the scene - the real story begins next chapter!

‘Princess Mary,’ Sonya greeted with a smile, opening the door wide enough for the princess to enter. ‘What brings you here?’

Mary did not smile. ‘May I sit down?’

Sonya’s expression melted into a puzzled frown. ‘Of course. Tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Oh, Sonya, if you only knew,’ Mary sighed, patting at her forehead with a handkerchief. ‘It’s Andrey. He’s returning home.’

Sonya pursed her lips. ‘I see.’

‘He wrote to me yesterday. He’s coming home this Saturday.’

‘My goodness,’ Sonya whispered. Two days? What would they say? With both Natasha and Marya ill, she had become the face of the Rostovs in Moscow. How could she try to justify Natasha’s actions? ‘I suppose I will have to visit him and tell him what has happened.’

There was another knock at the door. ‘Do excuse me,’ Sonya said, and frowned at her own diplomacy. Since when had she treated Mary like a mere acquaintance?

When she opened the door, she was more than surprised. ‘Count Bezukhov!’

‘I hope I’m not too late,’ the ever-awkward Pierre said, stumbling into the room with a bouquet of slightly drooping flowers in his large hands. ‘I’ve been very preoccupied with my studying lately, but I wished to offer the countess these.’ He gestured at the flowers and almost dropped them in doing so.

Sonya raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s very kind of you, Count-’

‘Please, call me Pierre.’

‘-but I’m afraid Natasha is in no state to see any guests at the moment.’

Pierre’s face fell and Sonya felt a stab of sympathy. He’d clearly been working himself up to visiting at all. ‘Oh. Well, I suppose I’ll just-’

He was interrupted by a voice from the stair.

‘Peter Kirilych?’

Both Sonya and Pierre turned to the shaking Natasha, leaning against the gold banister in her white nightgown, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders.

‘Natasha!’ they both exclaimed at the same time. Sonya immediately went to her side to support her. ‘What are you doing out of bed? You know the doctors said-’

‘I thought I heard the count,’ Natasha explained in a weak voice, not taking her glittering eyes from Pierre.

Pierre immediately began to blush. He held the flowers out to her awkwardly. ‘Er… I brought these for you.’

Natasha smiled. ‘They’re beautiful, Count Bezukhov.’

‘Pierre,’ he corrected hurriedly.

‘Countess Natalie!’ Mary called, making her way toward the rest of them. ‘How good it is to see you again.’

Natasha’s eyes widened before filling with tears. ‘Oh, Princess Mary. You must forgive me for how I have treated you and your brother these past few days. My behaviour has been appalling.’

‘Andrey?’ Pierre said, confused. ‘Your fiancé?’

The three women exchanged a glance.

‘Tell him, Sonya,’ Natasha said quietly.

‘Natasha, you have a reputation to-’

‘I trust him.’

Sonya gazed defiantly back at Natasha, but in the end she conceded. She turned back to Pierre. ‘You must swear on your life not to tell a soul.’

‘I swear,’ Pierre said, looking from one to the other.

‘Natasha has broken off her engagement with Prince Bolkonsky,’ Sonya said. ‘Prince Anatole Kuragin attempted to elope with her, but thanks to the efforts of Mary, Dolokhov, and myself, he was stopped.’

Pierre’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Natasha. ‘No. The girl he spoke of abducting – that was you?’

Natasha hung her head. ‘Yes, I am afraid it’s true.’

‘Count Bezukhov, I must ask you to leave,’ Sonya said desperately. ‘Natasha is already distressed enough. Perhaps another time, when she is feeling well.’

He was ushered out by Sonya and Mary, as Natasha gave a little wave. ‘Thank you for the flowers.’

 

As the weeks went by, Sonya frequently spent more and more time by Natasha’s side. She tended to her every waking moment, assisting the doctors and occasionally checking up on Marya, who was seen frequently muttering about the stupidity of youth. The public had become aware that something had happened, but the details were not clear and Natasha’s reputation remained intact.

Mary also had less time on her hands. After Andrey had arrived home, he had shut himself in his study and refused to see any guests. Her hopes of having someone to share the burden of their father had been crushed. Since his arrival, the old prince had become yet more demanding, and so she had barely any time to leave the house to visit Sonya.

When she finally did visit, she noticed Sonya seemed more plain, as did the house itself. There were fewer maids scurrying around, and the curtains were mostly drawn. They sat together in the drawing room as they were accustomed to, drinking their tea per usual. They rarely spoke.

‘Sonya…’

‘Yes?’

Mary sighed. ‘Sonya, I need to know where we stand, you and I.’

Sonya blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

She lowered her voice. ‘Don’t you remember that we kissed? And yet now you seem more distant than ever. I just think-’

‘Excuse me?’ Sonya said, straightening her back. ‘Princess, I am not sure if you are aware, but I have a sick cousin _and_ her godmother to take care of.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Mary insisted, raising her hands defensively. ‘Don’t forget I also have my father. But I need to know. Do you want me here or not?’

Sonya looked away. ‘Mary, I think you should go.’

‘No, I only meant-’

‘I have so much to do. Please.’

Mary stared in open-mouthed shock at the girl before her. After all they’d been through, Sonya now wanted her to leave?

She bowed her head and said nothing as she left and entered her carriage.

‘Where to, miss?’ the driver asked from above.

‘Home,’ Mary said in a quiet voice, stifling tears.

When she arrived home, she was relieved to see Bourienne had already eased the old prince to sleep. Although the two women rarely spoke, Mary and Mademoiselle Bourienne had a shared understanding of the prince’s temper.

‘And Andrey?’ Mary asked Bourienne without looking at her.

‘I have not seen him leave his study.’

Mary nodded. She silently made her way to Andrey’s study and knocked at the door.

‘Yes?’ her brother’s impatient voice called from inside.

She pushed open the door. ‘Andrey, how have you been?’

‘Fine,’ he said dully, not looking up from his desk.

‘Could you… could you show me what you’re working on?’

This time, he did look at her, peering through his spectacles which made him look more like their father than ever. ‘What? You want to read this?’

She winced at the condescending tone of his voice. ‘I’m not as stupid as you seem to think. I can read, you know.’

She was surprised as a genuinely kind smile appeared on his face. There was something there that she couldn’t quite place, as though he was seeing her as a child, when their mother was alive.

_No,_ she realised. _He sees Mother in me._

Of course he did. Why shouldn’t he? They had the same long face, the same almond-shaped eyes – they had even worn their hair the same way. Mary was the last connection Andrey had to his mother. The realisation made her heart ache.

‘It’s easy for you,’ she said, placing her hand on his. ‘You men can go fight in wars, die for the country, but for women like me, we can only read of it.’ She paused. ‘Do you remember Mother used to read to us?’

‘Okay, okay!’ Andrey laughed, handing her the book he was reading. ‘No need to guilt me. Although, I’ve no idea what interest you’d find in this.’

But as she held the book, Mary felt it was the most important thing in the world.

Sonya would recover, she knew. They had something, she was sure of it. The characters in books faced struggles, and they always persevered. Mary would persevere too, until she and Sonya were together in a world that let them be.

 

‘A divorce?!’

Anatole didn’t look up at Fedya as he scribbled his letter. ‘Come, Dolokhov, you know it’s the only way. I’m tired of these laws binding me down. What if Bezukhov were to tell someone? I must be free.’

Dolokhov rolled his eyes. Anatole had recovered quickly from the loss of Natasha and may have forgotten her entirely. He did, however, remember how close he came to being caught, and now wished to be free of his wife forever to permanently avoid such mishaps in the future.

Fedya, being the sort of friend he was, resolved to go along with the plan, and three weeks later Anatole was a single man. ‘Ah, Fedya, you’ve no idea how good it feels to be free!’

Dolokhov usually sighed whenever Anatole talked about being a bachelor again. He was frustrated with his inability to confess his feelings and with Anatole’s ability to manipulate him through it. He was missing Sonya and Mary and Moscow in general. Petersburg was plain and boring, and he had only Helene to keep him company while Anatole went gallivanting around the city.

‘He is frustrating, no?’ Helene asked with a laugh one day while they were on the topic of her brother. The laugh didn’t quite meet her eyes.

‘Yes,’ Dolokhov responded dully, resting his face in his hands.

Helene glanced at him and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘And yet you stand by him.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

Fedya cast his heavily-lidded eyes over to her. ‘Because he is as intoxicating as he is frustrating.’

Helene barked another laugh, this one genuine. ‘Ah, of course. You want him as much as you hate him.’

‘I don’t hate him, as such,’ Fedya sighed. ‘I only wish he’d think before he acts sometimes.’

‘Mm,’ Helene nodded. ‘A shame things didn’t work between him and Rostova. But no matter – I suppose now she’s all mine.’ She grinned devilishly.

‘Why, Countess Bezukhova, you are positively outrageous,’ Fedya said, matching her smirk.

‘Why would I be anything else?’

‘I thought you had your eyes on her godmother?’

Helene sighed. ‘Natasha is young, new, fresh. Marya Dmitrievna has status. I hate to admit it, but she scares me a little.’

‘You? Scared?’ Dolokhov chuckled. ‘Now there’s a frightening thought.’

‘Oh, don’t tease, Fedya. I say, let’s make a pact.’

Dolokhov raised his eyebrows. ‘A pact?’

‘If you tell my brother how you feel, I’ll do the same for Marya Dmitrievna.’

Dolokhov laughed. ‘You’re on, Countess.’

She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘At least someone understands.’

But as they sat there, Dolokhov realised Helene didn’t understand at all.

Helene was too much like her brother. She could not distinguish between love and lust. She was not like Sonya, who was sweet and good and loved Mary with all her heart. Helene saw Marya Dmitrievna as a challenge, a prize to be conquered.

Sonya saw Mary as a person.

Dolokhov saw Anatole as a person.

Anatole saw Dolokhov as a means to get what he wanted.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Around two weeks later, Anatole and Dolokhov were out in the street when they encountered a young man talking enthusiastically about Russian ideals or something similar. A small crowd had gathered around him, but they seemed to be amused rather than enthralled.

Dolokhov recognised the boy immediately, but Anatole didn’t. ‘Who is _that?_ ’ he asked, and Dolokhov immediately opposed the tone in his voice.

‘Alexei Nikolayevich, a Muscovite.’

Anatole nodded and glanced back at Alexei. Dolokhov watched his friend’s face and felt a sickening dread. He seemed to be watching Anatole’s very thoughts, though through slow motion. Anatole’s lips parted and he dragged his tongue across his upper lip unbearably slowly, eyes sparkling as he watched the boy. Dolokhov felt a surge of anger and his face went red as he grabbed Anatole by the arm and dragged him away.

Anatole stared at him, oblivious (or at least pretending to be). ‘Theodore, what are you doing?’

Dolokhov made an uncontrollable growling noise in his throat – Anatole only called him _Theodore_ when he was being condescending. His patience with him was wearing thin. How many times had Anatole done this, right before his own very eyes? He wanted to scream, but instead his voice came out quiet and seething. ‘You have no right to keep doing this.’ 

He was pleased with the way his voice sounded, giving him the illusion he was finally in control. Anatole seemed to believe so too, because he wrenched his arm from Dolokhov’s grip and looked at him with hurt in his eyes. ‘What do you mean? Fedya?’

‘You just so narrowly escaped scandal, and now you’re willing to do it all over again?’ Dolokhov snapped, and enjoyed how each word shot from him like a dagger and made Anatole take a little step back. ‘Are you so arrogant that you are blinded to the emotions of others? Think of how you have ruined Rostova. Think of how many women before her. Think of your sister, and how close things came with her. And yet you never learn! Countless times have you done this, and you will do it again!’

Anatole was speechless, which was something he was unfamiliar with. ‘Why are you so concerned about my personal life?’

‘I _am_ your personal life!’ Dolokhov retorted. ‘I have been by your side for years without fail. Who always comes when you call? Who does everything you ask without fail? Who would go down on his knees for you if you asked?’

Anatole paused before smiling. ‘Theodore, I’ve never asked you to do any of those things. You did them all yourself.’

They had reached a secluded alleyway where they couldn’t be seen, and their arguing voices echoed around them.

‘You would be lost without me,’ Dolokhov snarled. ‘You’re a fool, Anatole.’

But Anatole’s eyes were glittering again, and Dolokhov didn’t like that he was being looked at like prey. ‘Is that so?’ Anatole asked, his lilting tone just threatening to cross the line into mocking. ‘But then, Fedya – why are you still here?’

‘Someone has to be sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself,’ Dolokhov muttered sullenly.

Anatole approached him slowly and touched his cheek. ‘ _Mon cher,_ if you want something, you need only ask.’

‘What-’ He went red as he realised how much Anatole knew. ‘Anatole…’

‘Hm? Oh, is there something you want?’ Anatole lifted his chin and stretched out his neck like a cat.

Dolokhov felt his blood boil. _God, I hate him._  ‘Kiss me right now or I swear-’

He didn’t have to finish as Anatole’s lips were pressed against his. Dolokhov was still angry, but he decided his fury could wait for another time and he found himself pinned against the alley wall. He realised he’d forgotten how Anatole’s lips felt on his, and this reminder was more than helpful. He ran his hand through Anatole’s hair and across his cheekbones, trying to memorise how every small detail felt under his hands.

When they broke apart, Anatole was smirking, as though he knew he’d won. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Dolokhov murmured.

 

_Dear Sonya,_

_How is the countess? I do hope she is well. Anatole, Helene and I are quite enjoying Petersburg life, but I miss you and Mary dearly and hope I may return to my beautiful Moscow as soon as possible. How is the relationship between you and the princess? I have not heard from her in a long while._

_I have recently begun a relationship with Prince Anatole Kuragin, much in the likeness of your relationship with the princess. Before you worry for me, I will remind you that I have been by Kuragin’s side for years and know how to avoid such mishaps as the one your family was involved in._

_Hoping to see you soon!_

_All my love,  
Fyodor Dolokhov_

_Dear Fedya,_

_The countess is recovering well. I also miss you greatly. When will you return? Moscow is ever so lonely and dull without you._

_And how glad I am to hear of you and Prince Kuragin! I cannot say I favour him after what he did to my dear cousin, but that you have told him how you feel makes me beam with pride, even as I write. But do be careful – as happy as I am for you, I do not trust him. Do not let him break your heart as he did to my poor Natasha._

_All my love,  
Sonya Rostova_

After a few more letters, it became clear that Sonya was deliberately avoiding discussing Mary.

 

Mary liked to believe she was brave, and yet after a month, she was still not brave enough to visit Sonya. _Let her come find me herself,_ she always told herself, but it was becoming more and more obvious that Sonya had no intention of visiting.

With Dolokhov gone, Mary was back to being completely alone.

Andrey returning had done nothing whatsoever – he simply brought down the household even more. Her father was demanding as always, and her only real company was Mademoiselle Bourienne, whom she had begun talking to more and more often.

She spent more time thinking about her mother, wondering what she would say if she were alive. She took up writing poetry and stories, but she could never find a story to tell. So she soon found herself falling into a depression again.

One afternoon, she opened the door to the pleasant surprise of Pierre standing at her doorstep. She had known him since she was a child and they seemed to have a mutual appreciation of each other’s loneliness and dissatisfaction with life.

‘Pierre!’ she exclaimed happily, ushering him in. ‘What gives me the pleasure?’

‘Forgive me, Princess, I came to see your brother,’ Pierre said awkwardly. ‘I have not seen him since the day he returned.’

‘Of course,’ Mary said, heart sinking. ‘Well, he is in his study. I can fetch him for you if you wish.’

‘No, no, I will be right to find him myself.’ He paused for just a moment, looking at her curiously through his round spectacles. ‘I do beg your pardon, but I must ask… I noticed you were frequently spending more time with Natasha’s cousin, but in the past month I have hardly seen you in society at all. Has something happened?’

Mary frowned, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m afraid Sonya and I have had an argument.’

‘I see.’ He made to leave a second time but looked back at her once more. ‘Princess, if I might be so bold, it is never best to quarrel. Andrey and I had a similar argument when he returned, and I am here today to apologise. Perhaps you should do the same.’

Then he made his way to the study, and Mary was left to ponder his words.

 

‘Princess Bolkonskaya.’

There was clear distaste in Marya Dmitrievna’s voice as she looked Mary up and down. Mary shrank into herself, wondering if Sonya had said anything about her to Marya.

‘Pardon me, madam,’ Mary said, trying to stop herself from cowering under Marya’s gaze. ‘I came to see Sonya.’ She tried a smile. ‘I see you have recovered to full health. I am glad.’

Marya did not smile. ‘Sonya is in her room. I will fetch her for you – wait in the drawing room.’

Mary did as she was told, clutching the fabric of her skirts tightly in her hands. What would she say? She had not rehearsed, but she had expected Sonya to be the one to open the door.

Before she had time to properly panic (she was seriously considering fleeing through the door before Marya returned), Sonya entered the room. Mary couldn’t tell if she had grown more beautiful, or if she had just forgotten how she had looked.

‘Princess,’ Sonya said, face unreadable.

‘Sonya, I came to apologise.’ In truth, Mary believed that Sonya was the one who ought to apologise, but she swallowed her pride. ‘What I said was disrespectful to you and the work you have put into nursing your cousin and Marya back to health.’

Sonya stood there for an excruciatingly long moment before she smiled sadly and threw her arms around Mary. ‘Oh, goodness, Mary, you have nothing to be sorry for. I was completely unreasonable. Oh, how I’ve missed you!’ She kissed her on the cheek. ‘I have so much to talk to you about!’

And just as they always did, they sat in the drawing room and talked for hours, drinking their tea. Sonya informed Mary on how Natasha had been, and Mary did the same on Andrey’s behalf. They discussed the letters they had both been receiving from Dolokhov, and newly-birthed relationship with Anatole (in hushed voices, of course).

‘He says he’ll be back any day, but I doubt him,’ Sonya admitted. ‘Unless he can drag Prince Kuragin with him, I think he would not be able to bear parting from him.’

Mary nodded thoughtfully. ‘If only we could visit him ourselves.’

‘Perhaps we could,’ Sonya said, drumming her fingers on the table. ‘Perhaps we could convince Marya to take us to Petersburg for a weekend. We could bring Natasha, say it’s for the fresh air, and then escape away and visit Fedya.’

 

Surprisingly, the plan worked. Sonya persuaded Marya to let them bring Mary, and in two weeks’ time they were on their way to Petersburg. They stayed with some family friends, and on the second day they talked their way into being allowed to wander the streets by themselves.

‘We must be sure Natasha doesn’t encounter Prince Kuragin,’ Sonya said sternly. ‘If she does, she could very well fall apart again.’

‘Did you tell Fedya we were coming?’ Mary asked.

‘Of course. He gave me the address of his residence. Unfortunately, Kuragin and his sister will be there.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mary said. ‘I’ve missed Fedya so dearly. The Tsar himself could be there and I would still be speaking only to Dolokhov.’

When they arrived, they had a small silent squabble over who was to knock. In the end, Sonya did so. The door was flung open by Dolokhov, who embraced them both in a tight hug. ‘My friends! Masha, Sonyushka, how good it is to see you again! Come in, come in, quickly.’

The three of them sat together, drinking something definitely stronger than their usual tea. Just as they always did, they discussed this and that, from the latest gossip to their own intimate lives.

‘And how is the prince?’ Sonya asked with a sly smile.

Dolokhov chuckled nervously. ‘The same as always. He and Helene are out at the moment, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you love him?’ Mary asked eagerly.

Dolokhov gave her a strange look. ‘What sort of question is _that?_ ’

‘I’m sorry,’ Mary said, a little embarrassed. ‘I’m used to reading stories about love, but never seeing it for myself.’ She took Sonya’s hand. ‘That is, until now.’

Dolokhov smiled. ‘Ah, our endless suffering. If only we could marry the ones we love. I’d give the world to see you smile, but it still wouldn’t be enough. You can never be truly joined, and nor can I to Anatole.’

Mary and Sonya frowned. ‘Goodness, marriage?’ Sonya said. ‘I’d never even considered it.’

‘I have,’ Mary said, and the other two turned to her. ‘What? I’ve only been reading stories again.’

‘What were you thinking?’ Dolokhov asked.

Mary flushed. ‘Well, I thought… but it’s only silly.’

‘No, tell us,’ Sonya said eagerly, tugging on her arm.

‘I was just thinking perhaps, for example, you two could be married, and perhaps,’ she shuddered, ‘perhaps I could be wed to Anatole, and we could use that as a ruse for our own relationships.’

There was a long silence.

‘Oh, god, I said something wrong, didn’t I?’ Mary asked, looking around the room.

‘On the contrary,’ Dolokhov said. ‘I think you might have a very brilliant plan indeed.’

‘But it could never be,’ Mary said. ‘You are not wealthy enough for Sonya to be married to you, and Anatole already has a wife, does he not?’

‘As a matter of fact, he doesn’t,’ Dolokhov said. ‘He arranged a divorce.’

‘And Dolokhov is definitely wealthy enough for me,’ Sonya said. ‘My family doesn’t care who I marry, only who Natasha marries. I’m already poor; I can hardly make the family poorer. And I think they would find Fedya a very suitable husband for me.’

‘Don’t make me jealous,’ Mary teased.

Before they could continue, the door opened and Anatole’s voice drifted into the room. ‘I know I am divorced now, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to find a woman who will accept me as a husband,’ Anatole was saying to his sister. ‘You’re lucky Father made the decision for you. He’s currently weighing up between Julie Karagina and the Bolkonsky girl.’

Mary, Sonya and Fedya met each other’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all screamed when dolokhov said the name of the story.


	7. Chapter 7

Anatole was more than a little confused.

‘You… _want_ to marry me?’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Mary deadpanned.

His father had never known about his wife in Poland, but now that he was a free man he realised he needed to find a wife, or else his father would cut him off and he’d be left penniless. He had never liked Julie Karagina or Princess Mary particularly, but the fact that one was willing to attach herself to him without any prior discussion was a shock.

Dolokhov explained. ‘Anatole… you and I, where we stand, is the same place Sonya and Mary are in.’

‘Huh?’

‘We’re in love,’ Sonya supplied, rolling her eyes.

‘You know that you and I will never be able to marry, and nor will they,’ Dolokhov continued. ‘And we’re all getting to the point in our lives where we must find a spouse. Mary’s suggestion was that she marry you, and I marry Sonya.’

Anatole looked at the two women. ‘You’re… you’re the ones who stopped me from taking Natasha.’

‘Her cousin,’ Sonya said. ‘And the sister of the man you took her from.’

‘Now, wait just a moment!’ Anatole said, growing flustered. ‘I did not _take_ Natasha. She was perfectly willing to-’

‘If we might return to the subject,’ Dolokhov interrupted. ‘The marriages would be for appearance’s sake only. Nothing else need happen. Sonya and I both share little status in the aristocracy, and you and Mary are prince and princess.’

Anatole took a breath and sat down beside Fedya, putting an arm around his shoulder. ‘Fedya… I don’t know if I’d be comfortable with you marrying…’

Fedya raised an eyebrow. ‘You tried to elope while you were still married. Don’t talk to me about faithfulness.’

‘Damn you,’ Anatole said, clenching his fist. ‘And what if they find we’ve been having affairs? Eh? What then?’

‘Well,’ Sonya sighed, ‘that’s why we need you.’

‘Me?’

‘How many affairs have you had in your lifetime? How many narrowly avoided scandals? That was a rhetorical question, Anatole,’ Dolokhov said as Anatole began to count on his fingers. ‘If this is revealed to the public, we will all be immediately ruined. We are relying on you to keep this secret.’

‘Did someone mention scandal?’ Helene asked, sashaying into the room.

‘And the first step is to keep Russia’s biggest gossip out of things,’ Dolokhov said sullenly.

‘Oh, no, are you keeping secrets from me?’ Helene said with a mock pout, which faded away when she saw Sonya and Mary. ‘Oh. Sofia Alexandrovna and Princess Bolkonskaya, if I am not mistaken.’

‘Yes,’ Sonya nodded coldly. ‘How… glad I am to see you, Countess.’

Helene smiled tightly and everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably. Helene seemed to be the only one unaffected as she looked around at them all individually. ‘Well, are you going to tell me what this is all about?’

‘You mustn’t tell a soul,’ Dolokhov said sternly. Helene laughed but agreed and Dolokhov explained their plan. To everyone’s surprise, Helene seemed genuinely interested.

‘I can help with that,’ she said. ‘Although…’

‘What?’ Mary asked, wringing her hands.

‘Well, there is the issue as to what your families will say,’ Helene said. ‘And the family friends. Sofia, how do you think my husband will react to your marrying the man he duelled with? Princess, what will your brother say when you marry the man who took his fiancé?’

‘For the last time, I didn’t _take_ her-’

‘We will manage,’ Sonya said determinedly. ‘Somehow.’

 

‘Uncle, may I speak to you?’

Ilya Rostov looked up from his desk. ‘Of course, my dear. What is the matter?’

‘Well, Uncle,’ Sonya said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I think… I think I have found a man who I would like to be wed to.’

Count Rostov clasped his hands. ‘At last! Who is he? A man of status?’

Sonya winced. ‘F-Fyodor Dolokhov?’

There was an excruciatingly long pause.

‘Well, I believe he will make a satisfactory match,’ the count said. ‘Granted, he would not have been my first choice, but if he is the man you love, it must be. Now, I shall write to your aunt this very minute! How happy to have a marriage, even if not the one intended!’

Sonya left the room beaming.

 

‘Father? May I have a word?’

‘Yes? What is it?’ the ever-irritable old prince grunted.

‘Father, I… I have found the man I wish to be married to.’

Bolkonsky looked up at her with raised eyebrows. ‘Oh, you have, have you? You refuse every suitor who comes to our doorstep and expect me to give my blessing? Who is he?’

‘Prince Anatole Kuragin.’

That caught the old prince’s attention. ‘Oh? He’ll have you, will he, after how rudely you treated his father?’

‘Yes,’ Mary said, excitement building. ‘He is willing to propose as soon as he has your blessing. And his own father’s, of course.’

‘I see,’ Bolkonsky said. ‘Well, I suppose that will be fine. Leave me, now, I wish to rest.’

And so Mary left, a smile on her face. She barely noticed Andrey when he walked past, but he stopped and looked at her. ‘Mary, are you… smiling?’

‘I am, Andrei,’ she said happily.

‘You should do it more often. It becomes you.’

Mary’s smile grew wider until she realised she had to tell him the truth. ‘Andrei… I must tell you something.’

‘What is it?’

‘I… I am going to be married.’

‘That’s excellent news!’ Andrey said, taking her hand. ‘Who is the lucky fellow?’

Mary’s smile vanished altogether. ‘Oh, Andrey… it’s Anatole Kuragin.’

‘What?’ Andrey breathed, dropping her hand and stepping back. ‘Mary, that man… Pierre told me he was already married…’

‘He is divorced,’ Mary said quickly.

‘But… but… he will not be loyal!’ Andrey protested. ‘Do you not remember what he did? He took Natasha from me-’

‘Technically he didn’t _take_ her-’

‘-and he broke her heart. He will do the same to you, he does not care!’

Mary frowned and turned away. ‘That’s a risk I must take.’

 

Vasili was more than a little surprised when his son showed up on his doorstep and asked to be let inside.

‘Well, what brings you here?’ he asked as they shared a drink.

‘Father, I have good news,’ Anatole said with his trademark smirk that he had taken from his father. ‘I have found a suitable wife.’

‘Indeed?’ Vasili said with interest.

‘Yes, Princess Mary Bolkonskaya.’

Vasili was shocked for a moment before his face split into a smile. ‘Well done, my boy! I thought you had your eye on Karagina?’

‘I suppose I changed my mind,’ Anatole said with a shrug. ‘I came here only to ask for your blessing.’

‘You may have it, my boy,’ Vasili said, patting his son on the back. ‘We shall travel to Moscow as late as next week to visit the Bolkonskys so you may ask for her hand.’

 

The next week, Sonya, Mary, Dolokhov and Anatole met in Moscow and began discussing arrangements for their weddings.


End file.
